


False Suns

by raewise



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Drug Addiction, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-27
Updated: 2016-02-27
Packaged: 2018-05-23 11:57:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6115732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raewise/pseuds/raewise
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a rough night at home, John finds solace with his boyfriend, Nick.</p>
            </blockquote>





	False Suns

**Author's Note:**

> Doug is Mayor McDonough
> 
> As well as the warnings in the tags, there is minor blood and physical assault.

John doesn’t notice he’s crying at first, too focused on carrying himself down the dark sidewalk. His backpack is full of random shit he haphazardly picked up off the floor of his room, and he’s sure he’s left a trail of stray crusty socks behind him.  _ Left, right, c’mon John. You can make it.  _ He hears himself sniffle, that’s how he knows. Everything feels so disconnected, and he just wants to sit in the snow and  _ stop dammit Doug you son of a bitch why did you have to-- _

He bites his lip hard, trying not to let his hands shake too badly. His nails are digging crescent moons into his palms, but the pain centres him back into his body. There’s the yellow glow of the streetlights bathing his skin like little false suns. He tries to count the poles as he passes them but gets the numbers confused with the number of steps he’s taken and why didn’t he take his pills this morning fuck. He’s very tempted to go back to his house so he can start all over again, because he gets the feeling something bad’s going to happen if he can’t remember the numbers. But he’s not out in the middle of the street in winter to  _ count for Christsake.  _ He forces himself to keep walked in the right direction.

(He’s already gone back to recount twice.)

The house he’s heading towards is glowing white like goddamn sanctuary, like he’s fucking Esmerelda and he’ll be immune if he just makes it to the church. He clings to the keys in his hand tighter, not sure if the pain is real or if he’s imagining it. His feet are dragging on the floor, and he hardly makes it to the front door before he’s collapsing against it, slapping his palm against the thick white wood. It makes a  _ squelch!  _ sound and he isn’t sure what the fuck that is until he looks at where his hand has dragged down to rest on the door, leaving a path of crimson red. Oh, shit. He’s bleeding.

His eyelids feel heavy, and he’s worried that maybe he didn’t knock loud enough, when the door opens and his body gives up. He faints on the cheery little welcome mat, a mess of tears and snot and blood.

Nick looks down at him, makes eye contact, looking terrified out of his goddamned mind. The man puts his hands under John’s armpits, dragging him inside before kicking the door closed. He rushes off to find a blanket and the first aid kit, leaving John on the floor looking at his ugly brown ceiling and bleeding all over his ugly cream carpet. 

Nick returns, and his back almost gives out trying to lift John onto the sofa, but he makes it. He wraps the younger man in the fluffy blanket he knows John loves so much and examines his hand. The cut isn’t as bad as his dramatic entrance would have suggested, his keys having sliced his palm open, but the cut isn’t too deep and Nick wraps it in bandages and a kiss before feeling John’s forehead. He’s running a fever, but his ears are red from the cold, and Nick tries to heat them up by cupping them in his hands, but John bats him away. He’s staring at the wall, expression blank.

“John, what happened?” This is the first thing he’s said, and John tries not to flinch. There’s still tears making tracks down his cheeks like it’s a fucking drag race. He doesn’t look good, he knows, and he doesn’t feel very good either. 

“Doug,” he says, breathily. Like he’s run a marathon. “He’s just--God, he’s such a fucking asshole!” he curses. “He kicked me out. Says he’s tired of the drugs and tired of having to pay for my meds and psych appointments if I’m just going to waste all of his hard-earned cash by doing coke.” He’s shaking pretty hard, and it feels like someone’s stomped on his head. “I just don’t know what the fuck to do, Nick. Sorry.”

Nick touches his arm, hands warm against his skin. “It’s okay. It’s going to be okay.”

“I left. On my way out he grabbed me, tried to apologize, said he was just under a lot of stress lately and I’m the only family he has left. He said mom and dad would be disappointed in the both of us--like I don’t already  _ know  _ that! I started yelling and he… he hit me. Right in the mouth. I took off, keyed up his car and slashed his tires. And, and now I’m here.”

Nick is quiet for a long time. “We can press charges. He assaulted you, and he’s emotionally abusive--”

“I vandalized his car and I’m a fucking drug addict. Don’t really have much of a case, huh?”

“It doesn’t matter, John. I’ve  _ got _ you.” John closes his eyes. “He can’t hold your medication over you like a bargaining chip, and he shouldn’t try to make false apologies to keep you in that damn house with him.” Nick touched John’s cheek, feather-light. “Stay with me. Live here, with me. At least until you’re back on your feet. I know you don’t like relying on others but--”

“You’re a really shitty cop, Nicky,” John says, wiping the snot away from his face with his t-shirt. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay, I’ll stay with you.” He leans his weight against Nick’s chest, feeling warm and sweaty and broken and  _ hopeful _ . Nick presses a kiss to his scalp and he shudders, cracking each of his knuckles over and over, like a prayer to God that he’ll be okay--him and Nicky will be  _ okay _ .

And as long as Nick’s there with him, John feels like maybe they will be.


End file.
